A Grief Ignored | Madeleine L’Engle on A Grief Observed

Kirk E. Miller

Madeleine L’Engle writes this in the foreword to A Grief Observed, reflecting on Lewis’s raw honesty in grief—particularly his frustration with overly tidy religious responses to suffering and death:

“Perhaps all believing people feel, like Lewis, a horror of those who say of any tragedy, ‘Thy will be done,’ as though a God of love never wills anything but good for us creatures.”1

L’Engle states that many people of faith (“perhaps all believing people”)—including C.S. Lewis—might feel revulsion (“horror”) or discomfort when they hear someone respond to deep suffering or tragedy with a pious phrase like “Thy will be done.” Why? Because it can sound like they’re glossing over the tragedy and pain of the event, assuming that God only ever wills things that are obviously good and easy for us. Lewis is wrestling with a God whose will might include real pain—things which certain don’t feel “good,” and at many times are not at all good in and other themselves. Lewis bristles at those who piously smooth over such realities with their theological cliches and simplicities.

L’Engle continues:

“He [Lewis] shows impatience with those who try to pretend that death is unimportant for the believer, an impatience which most of us feel, no matter how strong our faith.”

Lewis rejects the idea that believers shouldn’t grieve deeply, as if death were no big deal because of our hope in resurrection. He finds it dishonest or unhuman when Christians act like faith removes the sting of death.

Lewis speaks specifically of death, since he is reflecting here on the death of his wife. But the same can be true of other griefs and forms of suffering.

L’Engle agrees: most of us, even strong believers, share this impatience. When we ourselves our faced with person grief or pain, don’t want to skip over it with clichés. We want to face sorrow honestly, stare it directly in the eyes, and acknowledge it for what it actually is. That’s precisely what Lewis does in A Grief Observed.

“I am grateful to Lewis for the honesty of his journal of grief, because it makes quite clear that the human being is allowed to grieve, that it is normal, it is right to grieve, and the Christian is not denied this natural response to loss.”2

“Don’t talk to me about the consolations of religion,” Lewis writes, “or I shall suspect that you do not understand.”3

Lewis is saying: if you come to me in my grief with nice-sounding religious comfort, like “she’s in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason,” I will assume you haven’t truly felt this kind of loss. Why? Because in his raw sorrow, those phrases feel hollow—even offensive. They can come across as shallow attempts to move past the pain rather than sit in it with someone.

As L’Engle’s reflects, “For the true consolations of religion are not rosy and cozy, but comforting in the true meaning of that word: com-fort: with strength. Strength to go on living.”4 Real religious comfort isn’t about being told things that make us feel instantly better. It’s not about sentimental peace or cheerful optimism. Instead, it’s about being given strength to endure.

The word comfort comes from Latin roots meaning “with strength” (com- = with, fortis = strong). So real comfort from God doesn’t erase grief, but it helps you stand under its weight and keep going. It doesn’t erase grief; it endures it.

It doesn’t ignore grief; it observes it.

Notes

  1. Madeleine L’Engle, “Foreword,” in A Grief Observed (HarperOne, 1996), xiii ↩︎
  2. Ibid., xiv. ↩︎
  3. Ibid., xv ↩︎
  4. Ibid., xv–xvi ↩︎

Must Pastors Be Good Managers? Paul Says So (1 Timothy 3:4–5)

Kirk E. Miller

“He must manage his own household well … for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God’s church?” (1 Timothy 3:4–5)

Sometimes we pit being pastoral against being organized and professional. But, according to Paul, part of being pastoral is managing well.

The word Paul uses for “manage” here (προΐστημι) is elsewhere used in the sense of ruling or leading.1 Thus, some translate it to “be in charge of, preside over,”2 “to superintend,”3 or to govern, as one governs a city.4

What is the significance of this requirement that overseers (pastors, elders) must manage their own household well? As Luke Timothy Johnson answers, “With this qualification, we reach the specifically administrative capacities of the potential supervisor. The participle ‘ruling well’ comes from the verb prohistēmi, which means to ‘govern or administer…'”5 In other words, it relates to the administrative competencies of a potential overseer.

Paul specifically mentions ruling one’s “house” well though. But as Philip H. Towner reminds us, given the nature of

“the ancient household concept (oikos), the stipulation here initially exceeds issues of parenting and husbanding to include management of slaves, property, business interests and even maintenance of important relationships with benefactors/patrons or clients. … The dominance of the oikos in shaping patterns of leading, management, authority and responsibility within the cultural framework made it the natural model for defining the overseer’s position. The adverb ‘well’ (3:12, 13; 5:17) attached to the verb of management establishes the high standard of proficiency Paul expects in candidates for church leadership.”6

Thus, we shouldn’t pit these against each other—pastoring and managing. In fact, to the contrary: we must hold them together. Managing well, being organized, and leading in an orderly way is a way to shepherd and care well for people.

In contrast, recklessness, carelessness, disorganization, and miscommunication often hurt people and result in the opposite of caring well for people. Paul even goes as far as to say such poor management is disqualifying.

Notes

  1. See BDAG. ↩︎
  2. Andreas J. Köstenberger, 1-2 Timothy & Titus, ed. T. Desmond Alexander, Thomas R. Schreiner, and Andreas J. Köstenberger, Evangelical Biblical Theology Commentary (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2021), 130. ↩︎
  3. R. C. H. Lenski, The Interpretation of St. Paul’s Epistles to the Colossians, to the Thessalonians, to Timothy, to Titus and to Philemon (Columbus, OH: Lutheran Book Concern, 1937), 585. ↩︎
  4. Martin Dibelius and Hans Conzelmann, The Pastoral Epistles: A Commentary on the Pastoral Epistles, Hermeneia—a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1972), 53. ↩︎
  5. He goes on to cite contemporaneous uses of this Greek word for support. Luke Timothy Johnson, The First and Second Letters to Timothy: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, vol. 35A, Anchor Yale Bible (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2008), 216. ↩︎
  6. Philip H. Towner, The Letters to Timothy and Titus, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2006), 254-255. ↩︎